Dinner at La Lueur
by Flower Powerer
Summary: Hi, sorry I'm late. Traffic was killer. So I ran here. From Miami. It's nice down there this time of year. We should go. After dinner. [Lietro]


**AN: **First attempt at a REAL Evo fic (ignoring author-insert insanity fics of my previous days…). First Evo slash, too, if you want to look at it that way. Normally I'm a Lancitty fan, but the slash bug has bitten me, so obviously I had to go with Lietro on this one. Party on!

---

**Dinner at La Lueur**

Lance Alvers was never known to be a very patient man. Even as a child - well, especially as a child - Lance had trouble waiting. Several small tremors in the Chicago area could be traced - if one so attempted - back to little Lance Alvers waiting in line at the ice cream truck. Commercials a little too long between shows? A little house-shaking would make the time past faster. Popcorn taking an abnormal period of time to pop, and you're just dying of hunger? Earthquake here, earthquake there, and that'll get the popcorn popping!

Waiting just sucked.

And as Lance stood in the lobby of La Lueur, the fanciest, most expensive French restaurant in Bayville, switching glares between his watch and the front door, he subconsciously sent a little quake through the ground, frightening several of the diners, because, honestly, he was tired of waiting.

"Goddammit!" He swore, perhaps a bit too loudly, as he noted several scandalized looks from the patrons at the table nearest him. "It's been forty fucking minutes!"

Other dates had never kept him waiting this long. And by other dates, he pretty much just meant Kitty. Kitty Pryde was a very punctual young girl. Unless her nails were not done drying. But even then, the longest she kept him waiting was an understandable ten minutes. Not this fucking forty minutes thing.

Of course, Lance mused, Kitty kept him waiting for, ahem, other things... Unlike this date.

But even thinking of great sex could not distract Lance from his impatience, and soon the walls were shaking. Socialites screeched as fancy paintings fell from the walls into their soup, and within seconds, Lance felt a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir," the owner of the hand said, "I'm going to have to ask you to please refrain from using your mutant abilities here. You are disrupting the customers."

Lance looked up from the hand into the face of the restaurant owner and glared. The man's voice was coated with false sincerity, and Lance knew it was only a newly-imposed pro-Mutant law that prevented this man from kicking him out of the restaurant.

"Sure, whatever," Lance mumbled, shaking the man off his shoulder. He glanced nervously around this restaurant as the owner walked away. Several of the ladies were shooting daggers at him, wiping soup off their expensive gowns, turning up powdered noses. Goddammit, this was too fancy for Lance's taste. What was wrong with fucking Red Lobster?

He felt the anger boiling up inside of him again. A quick glance towards the door - which revealed nothing knew - made that anger increase, and it took all his willpower not to level the place. As he was concentrating on not reducing the restaurant to rubble, he felt another hand landing on his shoulder

He whipped around, ready to give the owner a piece of his mind, but found himself face to face with someone who was definitely not employed at the restaurant, but who looked just as out of place here as Lance did.

"Jeff Harsinkle! What are you doing here, man?" Lance said, pulling his old friend into a manly man hug. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

The old school chum pounded Lance on the back, laughing loudly. "Yeah, you too man! It's been ages since you dropped out!"

Lance shrugged. "Yeah, you know, decided to focus more on the whole mutant thing - and the whole mutant thing wasn't working out so well in the anti-mutant school..."

If Jeff Harsinkle was at all perturbed about the mention of Lance's mutant powers, he didn't show it. Instead he grinned wider and punched Lance's shoulder in a friendly manner. "So, hey, what are you doing here?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, causing a rather unpleasant feeling in Lance's stomach. "Got a hot date? You still dating that Kitty girl, or do you have a new chick nowadays?" He glanced around the restaurant quickly. "What, is she running late?"

"That's not exactly it..." Lance mumbled.

But before Lance could explain what exactly "it" was, "it" ran through the restaurant doors at mach speed and swiftly attached itself to his arm.

"Hi, sorry I'm late. Traffic was killer. So I ran here. From Miami. It's nice down there this time of year. We should go. After dinner. Who's this? Jeff? Is your name Jeff? I think I remember you. My name is Pietro." The speed demon paused in his rambling to tilt his head curiously at the semi-stranger.

"Pietro, man, calm down," Lance muttered, staring at the ground, furiously avoiding Jeff's eyes.

If he had looked up, he would have seen exactly what he expected to see - horror and shock flickering across Jeff's face, along with a shot of disgust. Pietro, however, was not as shy, and after staring intently at Jeff for a whole half of a second (for that was all he needed), smirked in his typical manner, and shoved his tongue down Lance's throat.

Now, it wasn't as if Lance didn't like being kissed by Pietro. Under normal circumstances, he would have roughly kissed the boy back. But this was far from "normal circumstances". This was not the privacy of the boarding house, this was horribly and utterly public. And truth be told, Lance was just not ready for that.

He pulled away from Pietro quickly, pushing the smaller boy off of him. "Damn, Pietro, cut it out..." He said, nervously, glancing around the restaurant. His eyes met Jeff's, and he felt the judgment being poured on.

"Er, you see, well..." Lance stuttered, in a weak attempt to explain Pietro's actions.

"No, no, man," Jeff interjected, "It's cool, it's cool! But, uh, listen...I gotta go. I'll...see you around..."

Lance didn't think Pietro could have jetted out of that restaurant faster than Jeff did right then.

Pietro stared at the human boy for a few seconds, before shaking his head sadly. "Homophobes," He said, shrugging. This seriousness disappeared quickly, and before Lance knew it, he was being pulled along towards a table in the back. "Come on, let's go! I'm starving!"

Suddenly they were seated, Pietro on one side of the candlelit table, Lance across from him. Lance blinked at the rapid change in scenery. Already accustomed, Pietro held his menu open, scanning it swiftly. Feeling slower than usually, Lance reached for his menu and began to do the same.

As Pietro debated what he wanted to eat, he chattered.

"Honestly, you really shouldn't hang around people like that, Lance. That Jeff. He's a human. A very homophobic human. And you're a mutant. A very homosexual mutant. People like that just don't mix. Do I feel like a steak or something poultry?"

Lance opened his mouth angrily to respond (to the homosexual mutant comment, not the steak or poultry), but was cut off by Pietro's rambling.

"And what was up with that whole one-sided kiss over there? Huh? Usually you're all over me when I jump you like that. A little stuck in the closet, are we? Oooh, the seafood sounds good!"

Again Lance tried to butt in, but Pietro's mach-speed conversation would not allow.

"When did you become so closeted? You can tell Toad and Blob, but not some wimpy human boy you'll never see again? Man, and I thought you had a backbone. Kind of pathetic when I'm the manly one in the relationship. You up for appetizers?"

His lips were parted only for a second before Pietro picked up his conversation. This was getting ridiculous...

"Come on, Lance, gay pride! You ashamed you love me or something? Just tell everyone you're in it for the sex, I won't mind. The sex is good. Just admit it, though. Just stand up and shout: HEY I'M GAY!" With the last words, Pietro threw his arms up in the air, shouting as loud as his lungs would let him. He quickly lowered them and resumed normal converstion. "Salad or sou---"

"Jesus Christ, you want the whole place to hear!" Lance hissed, finally managing to get a word in.

"What, my choice of salad or soup? Not that important, I don't think," Pietro said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not that, you asshole," Lance steamed.

Pietro's mouth widened in mock revelation. "OOOOOOH. You meant the whole GAY thing." He raised his voice slightly when he came across the dreaded word, causing Lance to wince.

"How can you do that?" He burst, "How can you just sit there and proclaim to the world...not even care what anyone else thinks?"

Pietro leaned back in his chair dangerously, kicking his feet up on the table. Lance wanted to punch that smug smirk off his face, but he took great cares to control himself.

"Listen, Lance," Pietro said, nonchalantly, "You want to go hide from the world in your safe little closet, fine. Run back to your pretty little Kitty. If that's what you want. But you and I both know that no matter how much I shout and gallivant gaily - you love me for it. And you're not going to leave. That's why you're not storming out of here angrily, that's why you're not punching me in the face right now. You love me, and as much as you hate it, you know it's true. So just sit back, relax, and fucking admit you're gay, and let's continue with dinner."

With that, he returned his chair to all fours, and returned to scanning the menu, this time quietly, though Lance could still see the remnants of a smirk on his face.

It made him steam; it made him boil; it made him send little tremors throughout the restaurant. But Lance had to admit it; Pietro was right. He wasn't going to leave Pietro...he didn't want to. Goddammit. When did the boy get so insightful? Angry - with himself more than Pietro - he stared down at the table, refusing to speak.

"Ahem." Glancing up slowly, Lance found himself making eye contact with a waiter, with a suspiciously fake mustache and an evil sort of glare on his face. This waiter must have overheard Pietro's conversation, and Lance could guess by looking at him that homosexual mutants were not on the top of this man's list. "May I take your order, please?"

Lance glanced over to Pietro, letting him order first, and found Pietro examining the man with the same sort of look he inspected Jeff with. The same grin crossed his face, and he handed the menu to the waiter. "I'm not really hungry. I think I'll skip to dessert! I'll have the Molten Chocolate Cake, thank you!" He turned to Lance, the grin as wide as ever. "And you, _honey_?"

Sighing, Lance folded his menu, placing it in the waiter's hand. "I've lost my appetite," He mumbled.


End file.
